


What’s Your Story

by RenrijraKrin



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 00:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14367168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenrijraKrin/pseuds/RenrijraKrin
Summary: “So,” the pale barbarian asks in a voice that betrays no interest whatsoever, “what’s your story?”





	What’s Your Story

“So,” the pale barbarian asks in a voice that betrays no interest whatsoever, “what’s your story?”

“Well,” he says solemnly, eyes focusing on the distance, “that’s a tale as tall as time, but I’ll tell you the tail end.”

SAREN-RYE: 1 ounce apple brandy, 8 ounces pale ale, a dash of simple syrup. Great for those long, dry journeys.

Wide eyes stare from small faces as the cards dance between his hands and his jewelled horns jingle in the breeze. The kids crowd closer as he starts to speak.

“Down deep beneath the waves there’s a kingdom of crustaceans whose people find our flesh as sweet as we do theirs...”

The kids coil back in horror, then scuttle closer.

“...The next night, just as it seemed the war would continue, a great pearl washed up on the beach. And out stepped a sign from the gods, a creature neither crab nor man but a bit of both. And that creature was me.”

The kids stare, then snicker, then keel over.

RAVENS IN THE AFTERNOON: Pour one jigger of absinthe into a champagne glass. Add iced champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly.

The gap-toothed halfling walking beside him on the road grins encouragingly up at him.

“My childhood was a truly blessed time. It was just me and my parents living at their eccentric employer’s mansion. It was always warm and in the streets outside there were always people singing...”

He takes a swig from his flask.

“...And just after summoning me to this dreary plane, without so much as an explanation, the old coot clutches his heart and drops. I’ve been wandering this desolate land ever since, making people sing to remind me of home, hoping against hope I can one day return to my family in the nine hells.”

The halfling has suddenly picked up the pace.

THE DAINTY SLAAD: 1 ½ ounces gin, ½ ounce lime juice, ½ cup ginger beer, 3 drops of jungle frog poison. Sure to liven up any gathering.

He finishes his drink and signals for another.

“Our village was small but peaceful, apart from the dimwits who kept crowing that my mother was a witch...”

Eyelashes flutter sympathetically at him from across the table.

“...As I rushed out of the burning building I could still hear that infernal cackling over the roaring flames eating the village. The pain of horns tearing through my skull brought me to my knees and just as I was passing out I looked up to see my mother flying off on a broom, a murder of crows following after.”

Arms coil around him comfortingly.

HALF’NLING: Half stout beer, half light.

He flips a coin behind him, hears it bounce off the bar and a glass before settling loudly on the counter amid a stream of profanities from the proprietor. The patrons at his table give a polite smattering of applause.

“When she was younger, my mother was a real rebel, always getting into trouble. When it finally got too boring she ran away from home to become an adventurer. She saw all sorts of different lands, civilizations foreign and unimaginable. But the last place she visited was the most impressive. It was a magical land where the sky is solid and goldfish can fly....”

The lines of their faces are starting to blur, but it rather suits them.

“...And as I lay there with my love’s still warm body in my hands I asked whatever power would deliver me vengeance to help me hunt down the undead scourge. Something answered, all right. I could feel terrible power coursing through me, but the price I paid is plain to see.”

Their heads turn slowly to one another and it feels like the room turns with them.

KORD’S FOLLY: Five shots of rum followed by a short pause and a confused war bellow, then five shots of gin. True enthusiasts may follow up with a bar brawl.

Some of the liquid seeps out of his lips and he feels like half his face has gone numb, but he whisks a handkerchief from his sleeve with a flourish, muttering something about always being ready to pay an arm and a leg for some ankheg.

“My mentor was the most respected conjurer on the whole continent of Tal’Dorei. One day the richest man in Emon, formerly its most eligible bachelor too, arrives on our doorstep and offers a king’s ransom if my master can procure for him a specific demon, an interesting creature called an incubus. For weeks we tried, to no avail, and one day he turned to me with a frustrated look...”

He magnanimously shares his drink with the hand that reaches for his flask.

“...The stilts were powerful, too powerful. Though I towered high above those who had once pitied me it came at a cost, as I couldn’t really see where I was stepping. The damage to the city was extensive, and I later learned I had trampled a guard who attempted to apprehend me. I ran off to the hills, where I met this weird hag, who offered me facial reconstruction in return for the stilts. I’ve been on the run ever since.”

His eyes focus and the table is empty.

BARD: 1 mug of the bar’s strongest liquor, no mixing involved. Guaranteed to make all music better.

The group at his table looks kind of young to be drinking, but judgement is for civil servants.

“The deserted village had been built on top of an ancient burial ground, everyone we’d met had warned us it was foolish to stop there, but we’d been on the run for so long we just had to stop...”

They lean in as his voice goes low as he struggles with the memories.

“...And finally, after many twisted nights of pleasure, my body began to change. My lady was gone and all there remained was pain. The town cleric said the contagion spreading over my body was because of the way I acted, how I had hurt everyone who loved me. But I think it just spread through bodily fluids, like most things.”

He hesitates a moment, then vigorously throws up on the table, prompting his audience to run full speed out of the bar.

MIND FLAYER: Ingredients depend on the establishment. If you have difficulty remembering your name afterwards, it qualifies.

He flips a coin behind him and is immediately rewarded with a squeak from the waitress, followed by the crashing of glass. He flips another coin at the problem and steadies himself at the table.

“I didn’t always look like this, you see. I was once a simple farm-boy, in love with a simple farm-girl. But then she came to the old abandoned farmstead up the road. My lady, bitter and tender, who came to redeem me from virtue...”

He nods along to the rhythmic beating of the half-orc trio or quintet playing the drums.

“...And shortly after her return my mother gave birth to me. She didn’t say anything to the people who threw stones and accused her of laying with demons. But she did tell me one day when I wouldn’t stop asking that my father was probably some sort of mystic goat-man.”

His drinking buddies notice he has stopped talking and guffaw enthusiastically.

DRAGON’S LAST BELCH: Three types of rum, lime juice, falernum, Ank’Harel bitters, Purvan anise-flavoured liquor, grenadine, a mixture of cinnamon syrup and grapefruit juice. To unleash the dragon jump to your feet, head to the dance floor and start spinning.

The bartender takes the coin and slides him another drink, with some hesitation.

“I used to be an adventurer like you. Then I took an arrow in the knee. I insisted to my friends that I could keep going, but it obviously wasn’t working out. They helped me to the nearest town and left me there. Word reached me of a famous visiting blacksmith, and I gave him all my fortune, entreating him to help me walk again. What he crafted for me was like nothing anyone had ever seen...”

He hefts his face up from the table.

“...And as I came to I felt inhuman vigour coursing through my body, and staring at me slack-jawed was the rich aristocrat. It wasn’t until a few days later, when his wife came back from her trip and I had to run into the night with all the jewels I could stuff into the pants around my ankles, that I realized what exactly had happened to me. I’ve been an infernal love machine ever since.”

The old man nods confused, then grows dim and distant as gravity gives up on the world. Molly’s eyes blink slowly, the surroundings changing every time.

“So,” he hears Yasha’s muffled voice above him as he dangles over a muscular shoulder, “your story kinda sucks.”


End file.
